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<title>Discomfort and Confessions by ValentinesValentine (UnfinishedProject)</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22773229">Discomfort and Confessions</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnfinishedProject/pseuds/ValentinesValentine'>ValentinesValentine (UnfinishedProject)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Fallout February (Reddit Daily Prompts) [16]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fallout 4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drinking, Drinking Games, F/M, Fuckbuddies, Implied Sexual Content, Open Relationships, Wet Clothing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 14:07:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,310</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22773229</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnfinishedProject/pseuds/ValentinesValentine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>February 16. Hot! So hot! How is your character coping with the heat?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Deacon/Female Sole Survivor, Female Sole Survivor/Sturges, John Hancock/Female Sole Survivor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Fallout February (Reddit Daily Prompts) [16]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621144</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Discomfort and Confessions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Summers were even hotter now than before the war and it was beyond the point where an ice cold beer could help. Nora was sitting on the porch of the <i>Tipsy Ferret</i> with an empty bottle of ale in her hand and her top rolled up to her chest — the weather unbearable even in a pair of denim shorts and a flimsy T-shirt. The present company in a similar state of undress; Hancock in an open shirt and rolled up pants, Sturges topless with his overalls hanging from his hips only and Deacon in a ridiculous set of mismatched Hawaiian shirt and shorts — at least his sunglasses were fitting the weather for a change.
</p><p>"All right, I'm bringing the shots." The was a collective groan but Nora ignored them; they had a taste of her drinking games a few times — sore losers, the whole lot. Sashaying into the bar, she was back in a few minutes, balancing a tray with four glasses and a vodka — her waitressing experience useful even two hundred years later. She settled down on the bench, hooking a leg over Deacon's with a smirk — now this was about to turn into the best entertainment she had in a while or a horrible catastrophe.
</p><p>"So, what are we playing today, sunshine?"
</p><p>"Truth or drink." The game was pretty self-explanatory but she still ran through the rules, pouring the first round of shots for everyone. The first questions were rather innocent, her own being if she ever considered cheating on her husband — no but those were different times, their current set up of Nora sleeping around with all of them would've been a talk of town for years. And anyway, she didn't knew anyone like them, just a bunch of military couples and the average, snobby suburban neighbor.
</p><p>"Is Valentine a valid option?" She's been asked if she'd rather make out with someone from the Institute or the Brotherhood; both equally unappealing but Deacon was persistent on getting a reply. <i>No, he wasn't</i>, came the clarification, <i>as the Institute considered him a creation and not staff</i> — wincing when he used the Institute's own viewpoint on synths. "Fine. Then it probably has to be Haylen."
</p><p><i>Hot damn</i>, Hancock muttered and Nora was sure he wouldn't mind a front row ticket to the show. He in turn confessed to her question that Fahrenheit was, in fact, his daughter though he wasn't sure who the mother was — she just popped up in Goodneighbor in her late teens and been there ever since. Sturges took a drink, unwilling to answer whether he'd prefer Hancock or Deacon's company in bed with Nora — they've been keeping separate though she has toyed with the thought of getting down and dirty with the three of them at once but she assumed it would end in a fit of jealousy. And Deacon, true to form, told them a blatant lie; everyone aware of the fact but they were having a good time so it didn't matter much.
</p><p>"John. Favorite of your own body parts?" Mean, perhaps but Hancock was pretty chill about the whole being a ghoul business and probably hadn't the insecurities that were so prevalent and through the roof in the pre-war days. Before Shaun she wasn't bothered either, happily showcasing her assets in tiny bikinis and form fitting clothes — but the scar along the lower side of her abdomen became an obstacle, needing reassurance from four different men for her to be accepting of it.
</p><p>"The dick. Gotta be the dick." He winked at her and she smirked back; she'd probably have to agree — though God damn if his tongue wasn't capable of miracles. She should stop thinking about what else he could do — alcohol and anticipation already giving her soft tingles. There was a smug grin on his face now, preparing to ask something that would either embarrass all of them or bite him in the ass later — her vote was on the latter. "So, spill. Did you really love your wife or were you just stringing her along?"
</p><p>Deacon's fingers dug into her skin at the question, no doubt trying to strangle Hancock with his gaze hidden behind the shades. This was something he probably didn't entertain an answer to — lie or otherwise. She knew the story, her own past holding similar pains; she believed the answer would've been yes, Deacon sounded sincere when talking about Barbara. Her fingers brushed against his shoulder, offering him a soft smile to tell him it was okay — his grip finally softening back to gentle caresses against her knee.
</p><p>"Biggest turn on?"
</p><p>"Nora." Deacon needed a round or two more of vodka to be back to his usual, boisterous self — otherwise he wouldn't have let off Sturges with such a simple answer, asking for specifics. She knew though; it was her, bent over a workbench and tinkering away on something. Not only once she had to come back to installing mods later; hands on her hips or various parts of her body breaking her concentration when he pressed up against her back. "You never told us. How did this whole exhibitionism thing started?"
</p><p>Exhibitionism maybe was a strong word, she wasn't exactly choosing public places for her escapades on purpose or walking around nude — no matter how much Hancock brought up the latter; it was impractical even if she'd entertain the thought. Sure she wasn't shy when it came to showing herself off though — why hide what you're proud of?
</p><p>"A wet shirt contest." That's it, she won't give them a context — curious if any knew what she was talking about. It was back in college, during a spring break in SoCal. They were young and drunk, partying with a couple of young soldier boys from a nearby base — funny how Nate's first thought had to be what a whore she was. It all seemed so long ago even by the time they married — now it was quite literally a lifetime or three away.
</p><p>"That ain't helping us, sunshine."
</p><p>"What? I thought everyone in this corner of the Commonwealth knew." She leaned back on the bench with a smirk; she wanted them to guess. And that they did, spectacularly mistaken. There were fairly innocent ideas, a couple that actually sounded fun and those that were so ridiculous it was no wonder nobody ever came up with it. She needed a minute to stop laughing before giving them a brief explanation. "All right, it's a college tradition. A beauty contest of sorts where you show off through a wet top."
</p><p>They probably all had the same idea — it sounded stupid, which it definitely was Nora concurred, but moved their imaginations. Hancock had that grin that someone not smitten with him would call slimy and creepy, Sturges was struggling to keep his eyes away from her tits and Deacon's hand slid higher on her leg with a slight pressure. Well, if she dove in this deep, she should go all the way to the bottom.
</p><p>"Guess a demonstration is in order." She rose, slipping back into the bar for a jug of water — shimmying out of her shorts and pulling the bra from her body. <i>Here goes nothing</i>, she thought, trying to make a show out of it — it was a lot harder to make it look sexy when she was doing everything herself. The water was pleasantly cool against her heated skin; soaking the fabric and trickling down her legs — a shiver coating her skin in goosebumps.
</p><p>"This tradition should make a comeback." Three pairs of eyes stared at her, the wet fabric sticking to her skin leaving little to the imagination — not as if they haven't seen her before. There was an agreement from all three on that point — though she suspected it meant that <i>she</i> should keep it alive and show off more like that.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This might have more chapters in the future.<br/>Also, Nora shouldn't be allowed to name her settlements' bars while drunk.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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